


A Weepy Wednesday Toonkind Special: Sammy Meets Mr. M

by MiraSoraStone



Category: The First Drafthouse (Toonkind D&D), Toonkind D&D
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Koda ran off and Sammy didn't have the energy to follow, Spoilers for Reunion Tour, Spoilers for Taffy Train saga, This turned out a little AU to Mr M canon but hey! it's a Weepy Wednesday fanfic!, Weepy Wednesday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraSoraStone/pseuds/MiraSoraStone
Summary: It's a bad time to be an urchin in Einquell. The streets are cold, places still filled with slush and snow, and despite the upturn of spirits after Dora's defeat, that very chill had already sunk into Sammy's already grey outlook on life, heightening a struggle that has been going inside him ever since he was ten and first on the streets, running from the remnants of a happier time that had long since been burnt to ashes.And someone is in the alleyways, just waiting to make Sammy's life absolutely Miserable.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. The Talent is Lost

Sammy is cold. He’s been cold for days and days now. The bright shine of the theater has worn off, leaving him hollow and numb. He’s alone, and it is 

so 

cold. 

“My, my don’t you look  miserable.” 

Sammy glances over, his eyes nearly missing the puppet standing in the mouth of the alley. Squeakers sat up to attention on Sammy’s shoulder and patted his masked cheek. 

_“Sammy, Sammy run.”_ the albino rat said in an urgent whisper, his red eyes unwaveringly focused on the puppet which tilted their head - 

**_ “SAMMY RUN-” _ **

  
  


Sammy runs deeper into the corridors of alleyways, throwing himself to the mercy of the shadows. There is a haunting laugh that echoes against the brick, thick and syrupy and magenta . 

And then he jerks back, his wrist caught by something that digs, digs, _digs_ . Royal purple ink, nearly black,  drips  down a magenta string and his breath catches. No. No, no, no one can see, no one can know, if they _know_ he’s dead - 

His knees fall out from under him and he stares at the puppet whose strings he’s tangled up in, deep purple terror coating his shade cells and dripping down in inky droplets to hit the violently churned snow, turning it a light violet. 

“Now that wasn’t very polite,” the demon hidden in a puppet scolds in a pleasantly even tone. 

Despite how his arm is caught, Sammy tries to back away, to get away -- 

“- you’re their son aren’t you-” 

Strings catch his other wrist, halting his frantic struggle for freedom. The puppet tilts his head. 

“Oh, you’re so close to breaking, aren’t you.” the puppet sounds delighted. “So much misery trapped inside that little noggin of yours!” 

And then the puppet reaches out to touch him. 

The next instances come in flashes, little snapshots of scenes broken off from a reel. The puppet pulls back, a shimmering opalescent liquid tucked away in a vial. An agonized shriek of pain that tore from his own throat. A squeak that sounds more like scream, tiny little paws patting and scrabbling at his mask. He looks over at the rat that has been his guardian ever since he ran to the streets, and all he hears is squeaking. 

And then, the cold takes him, and he is **numb.**


	2. Wild Magicks

There is purple in the alleyway. Lilac coats the snow in the sickly hue of mottled bruises. A thin thready wail splits the air as tiny paws skitter across the snow. 

Squeakers had raised many pups up out of the gutters over the years, but none of them had made him want to tear his whiskers out in concern as much as his toonkind boy did. Now, his boy lies in a growing puddle of lilac slush, unmoving. 

The albino rat scrambles up onto his boy’s chest, relief spiking through his entire body when the up-down movement of expanding lungs informs him that his boy is still alive, holding on by threads. But the royal purple ink is spreading from wounds wrapped deep around paper pale wrists, darkening snow from lilac to a dark violet. 

Squeakers hates the color purple now. Hates it with all his tiny being. 

“Sammy! Sammy wake up!” He slaps his boy on the masked cheek, panic starting to grow into a deep cold fear that grips him down to his bones. “SAMMY!”

His boy opens his pearly white eyes and there is a simmering confusion in the delicate outlines. His boy’s stare is dull, seeing nothing but the empty void as Squeakers shoves at his cheek. There is no response from the awkward toon, and Squeakers sits back in the crook of Sammy’s neck as he comes to the chilling realization that he can’t understand his boy at all. 

His boy is alive but something precious had been stolen. The rage that fills the tiny rat is not to be underestimated, for it is the righteous fury of a parent who’s charge has been harmed under their watch. It is the rage of a protector who has _failed_. 

Squeaker’s fur crackles with magic as the whispers of the feywild fill his ears, his fur haloed with a faint red staticky glow. His red eyes sweep the alleyway to land on the retreating form of the demon in a puppet’s body. And then he _moves_ . One minute he is on his boy’s stuttering chest and the next he is a shining beacon of red magic soaring through the air like a comet. There is impact. The puppet goes sprawling in a surprised tangle of wooden limbs and string and Squeakers is _snarling._

“GIVE IT BACK, THIEF!”

The puppet twists its head to face Squeakers, rotating with the creaking pop of rusting joints. A magenta eye blinks at him, that painted smile sinister in the shadows of the alley. 

“I’m afraid that transaction has already been closed.” the puppet says cheerfully grabbing Squeakers around the middle despite the hissing crackle of magic against a wooden palm. 

Squeakers lets out a hiss that is far more feral than any other noise he has ever made in his life and moves to bite the puppet’s hand - and then the puppet’s hand 

s q u e e z e s


End file.
